


Wasteland Tales

by FiresofAnarchy



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3, Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Naming Guns, Next Generation, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 20:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9623468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiresofAnarchy/pseuds/FiresofAnarchy
Summary: A collection of one shots featuring various characters from Fallout.





	1. Fathers and Daughters

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is new and is actually the reason I put this collection together. The other five chapters have been on Fanfiction.net as separate uploads for a while now, but I've reworked them into one shots and put them in this collection. The idea for this fic has been sitting around on my computer for a while and comes from the fact that McNamara isn't really a common name and this thought immediately came to my mind when I really thought about it. Who's to say Elder McNamara wasn't a little wild in his younger days.

Elder Nolan McNamara slowly made his way to the first level of the Hidden Valley bunker in order to check on the facility’s newest member. The birth of a child was always cause for a particular amount of celebration as it meant not only the continuance of the human race as a whole but also the Brotherhood in particular. The Brotherhood, just the thought of the organization he had once sworn his life to protect now gave him an intense headache. In light of a certain young Elder’s actions in the East things for the Brotherhood as a whole were only becoming more and more complicated and he unwittingly found himself stuck in the middle of it all.

He inevitably made his way into the med bay and walked over to where Senior Scribe Schuler was running several tests on the newborn as its parents looked on to make sure that there were no unforeseen complications following birth five weeks ago. He had been present then too, but the formal congratulations would have been inappropriate at the time. Senior Scribe Schuler still wasn’t his biggest fan anyways after the whole situation with Head Scribe Taggart and while she had more or less accepted her position as medical officer over the years spending an exorbitant amount of time in the same room as her wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time. There was no avoiding it now though, unfortunately.

“How is our newest member fairing,” he said figuring that was neutral enough.

“I still need to run some tests, but preliminary results show that both mother and baby are perfectly healthy.”

“That’s good,” he said.

“Congratulations are in order I think,” he said turning towards the parents. “You’ve helped assure both humanity and the Brotherhood’s survival for at least another generation.”

He stuck out his hand and the Paladin that was the baby’s father took it and gave it a firm shake. The Scribe mother just sat back in the chair she was occupying and nodded her head. They probably thought he was being too formal, but in his experience formality was better than false joyousness every time. It wasn’t that he wasn’t happy for them on a personal level, what kind of person wouldn’t be happy about someone starting a family, the outward emotions for doing so just weren’t his strong suit and left a lot to be desired; at least that’s what Veronica kept telling him.

“Carry on,” he said as he made a quick exit.

Happy to finally have the awkwardness over and done with he allowed his mind to wander back to a time in his life that he found himself thinking about more and more in recent days. He had given up long ago on the idea of having children of his own, his duties were far too important for distractions such as that, but there had been a time where it had not seemed like such a far flung idea. He had been just a young Knight then still hoping to catch the attention of Father Elijah and other high ranking Paladins and Scribes so that he could continue his rise in the ranks. Her name had been Anne; she was an outsider who wasn’t even planning on staying in the Mojave long as she made her way East. A relationship with an outsider would have been hard, possibly even reason enough for his ousting from the Brotherhood entirely, and that combined with her desire to continue East made sure that they never got to fully explore their relationship. They had several nights of passion together before her departure and he had been left wondering ever since about what might have been. 

Maybe she was still out there somewhere in the East, hopefully not too caught up in that Maxson boy’s holy war, though maybe it was for the best that he never found out what happened to her. He wasn’t that same young Knight, so much had happened since then, HELIOS One had happened, him becoming Elder had happened, Veronica had happened, the Courier had happened; he wasn’t sure if he would meet with her approval if she met him again today. With a sigh he sat back in his chair and tried to prepare himself for more meetings with the rest of the West Coast Elders about the whole Maxson situation. It was going to be a long day.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the wasteland once known as the United States, Overseer Gwen McNamara sat back in her desk as she contemplated the recent events regarding Austin Engill and the woman who had showed up on their doorstep and fought to save him. The woman was apparently looking for her son who was taken by the Institute for whatever sinister purpose they had planned for him. While she couldn’t exactly take an active role in helping the woman out herself, or send anyone out into the wasteland with her aside from Curie, she was determined to help in any way she could while still maintaining the wellbeing of Vault 81 and its residents.

The whole situation with the Brotherhood of Steel was equally disconcerting if not more so for a number of reasons. Gwen didn’t believe for a second despite what Maxson and his lackeys were spouting that they had Vault 81 or the Commonwealth in general’s wellbeing in mind. It was all simply a grab for power that they were masquerading as some sort of liberation. Freedom from the grips of the Institute would do the Commonwealth some good, but having it come at the hands of the Brotherhood would only serve to trade one boogeyman for another that was much more visible.

Her mother had once let it slip in the waning years of her life that her father was a member of the Brotherhood of Steel out West. The fact that she hadn’t been born inside the vault had definitely been used to rail against her enough after she announced her intention to run for Overseer that she knew how the people would react if they knew whole truth. The people inside of Vault 81 may be sheltered and warry of the outside world, but they weren’t stupid. It was hard to ignore the wanton invasion of the Commonwealth that the Brotherhood was currently embarking upon. 

No, it would be best if that little kernel of knowledge never made it outside of her head. In her reasoning, if her father was anything like Maxson and his ilk he wouldn’t be a man she would want to call father anyways. Maybe it was for the best that she never met him. With the personal crisis reasoned out in her mind she began making her way towards the elevator. She needed to make the necessary security arrangements in case the Brotherhood or Institute decided to attack Vault 81, especially now that they were offering safe harbor for the woman who seemed to be their greatest enemy.


	2. Not The Fun Type

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter isn't much different from the original upload aside from a few word and sentence changes. It was inspired by that line of dialogue about Amari not being the fun type. And it's not clear in the game if Amari is a first name or a last name so I made it a last name and gave her a first name.

It had been a particularly stressful day for the Memory Den's resident physician. It had been bad enough having to deal with all of the complications surrounding H2-22's memory wipe and subsequent travel to the next safehouse where the Railroad agents there were hopefully going to finally set him up in his new life, though she couldn't say for sure, but the world lately didn't seem to want to give her a break. There was another liberated synth on its way to make use of her services and despite her sending several encoded messages to Desdemona about how doing another memory wipe so soon could draw unwanted attention it seemed that HQ was dead set on getting this done as soon as possible. That only meant more stress over the next few days. She found miniscule comfort in the silver lining that this wipe couldn’t possibly encounter as many complications as H2-22’s, that would just be cruel and unusual punishment from a world she wasn’t sure what she did to piss off.

Irma was lounging in her usual spot keeping a careful eye on all of the Memory Den's current patrons to make sure that there was no funny business going on. It was a slow day and thus very boring for the woman who so enjoyed the almost constant hustle and bustle that living in a place like Goodneighbor could provide. She had seen Nick's new friend come in and talk to Dr. Amari about something. She assumed that whatever it was probably had something to do with the synth that had taken up residence in Amari's office over the past week, but she couldn’t be sure. If that was the case she was only too happy to finally have him out of her hair. It wasn't that she didn't respect what Amari was trying to do, she did, but the thought of what the Institute would do if they ever found out about what was going on in her little den of sin kept her up some nights.

Her conversation with Nick's increasingly talked about companion had been brief, an exchanging of greetings and a remark about Amari not being the "fun" type, which she supposed wasn't a nice thing to say in hindsight even if it was partially Amari's own words being used and the other woman didn't catch on to her full meaning. It also wouldn't have made for a very pretty scene had Amari heard her making such insinuations, that woman may look small and unimposing but she could really go on a war path when she was mad about something. Nevertheless today was another one of those days where the good doctor had become too consumed with her work and forgot to take the time to relax. Irma was only too willing to help out in whatever way she could.

Amari sat at her desk going over the limited medical records she had been able to maintain on Goodneighbor's various residents during her tenure as the town's main physician. There was also an open link to Railroad HQ on her terminal in case they decided to relay any further information about her incoming charge. She felt a presence behind her and saw a pair of hands moving to rest on her shoulders out of the corner of her eye but before she could do anything to react Irma spoke.

"You really shouldn't work so hard all the time Niya," the other woman spoke in a semi-seductive tone. "I can practically feel the stress radiating off of you."

"What have I told you about calling me by my first name," Amari scolded. "And believe me I am perfectly aware of how stressed I am."

"All the more reason to allow yourself to take a break," Irma said beginning to rub Amari's shoulders. "It's been too long since you allowed me to give you a good massage."

"Need I remind you that the last time we started down this particular path Mayor Hancock walked in to find me half naked on top of a table," Amari said frankly. "The looks he gave me after that are not something I want to go through again."

"Well we could go upstairs," Irma's voice returned to a more seductive tone. "But I can't promise I'll be able to stop myself from taking this even further up there."

"Some people actually manage to go entire weeks without sex you know," Amari said.

"Those must be some pretty miserable people," Irma said as she pulled Amari's lab coat down, off of her shoulders. "Now just sit back and relax for once."

Despite her reluctance to leave her work unattended Amari had to admit that Irma always knew exactly what to do to make her stress melt away. Everything else just seemed to fade into the background as the other woman worked with her magic fingers, the stress from everything with the Railroad, the almost never-ending stream of patients that continuously flowed through her office, the ever-growing difficulty of acquiring supplies for that stream of patients; they all of sudden didn't seem like such pressing concerns. As Irma moved her hands from her shoulders down her back she found herself increasingly unable to think of anything else and for that she was grateful.

“Actually I think taking this upstairs would be the wisest course of action,” Amari said.

Irma only gave a sly smirk in response.

Sex had always been little more than a tool to Irma; it was a tool that you could use to fulfill your own desires and needs and it was also a tool that you could use to get what you wanted through fulfilling other people's desires and needs. With Amari it was different; of course she had known that for a while now but every time she woke up next to the other woman peaceful and content it only confirmed that what she had in her grasp right now was something special.

"I think you've earned some time off," she said leaning in to kiss Amari's forehead.

It would be another slow, boring day around the Memory Den especially without Amari around. Irma really hoped that she wouldn't push herself too hard again, at least for a couple of days. Amari may not be the "fun" type all of the time but when she wasn't overburdened with all of the things that she had to juggle she could really be something and even in her usual stressed state she was still better company than most of the people that constantly occupied the Memory Den. If she was lucky, Nick would be around again with his new friend to distract her from the monotony.


	3. The Casualties of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is also not very changed from the original upload. It was inspired by the emotions that poured out of me after completing the main quest in Fallout 4. I did actually name my guns in this way though I haven't been on this character in quite some time.

It was done, Sienna thought as she stared out at the crater where the Institute used to be. The Brotherhood of Steel had been defeated a while ago; she had stared at the wreckage of the Prydwen too, just thinking. She certainly had a lot of things to think about nowadays, things that the brash lawyer and loving mother she had been before the bombs fell would be disgusted by. The Railroad had proven victorious; the synths were finally free to live their lives the way they saw fit and the Commonwealth was finally free from the looming specter of the Institute forever. She supposed she should be happy, and yet she found herself full of a whole other myriad of emotions; sadness, regret, and uncertainty all meandered through her consciousness as she continued to try and make sense of everything that had transpired in just over a year since she left the vault. In the end sure the synths were free but there were many others that had become casualties in this war and were never going to get to see the future that their sacrifices had helped usher in; a few in particular hit close to home.

Nate.

As she scratched his name into her plasma rifle she couldn't help but think about how much better suited he would have been for this world than she had been at the start of it all. He had been a soldier and would have had no problem mowing down the countless numbers of raiders and other assorted things that tried to kill you in the Commonwealth right out of the vault; it had taken a little longer for her to get her bearings. He had been an amazing husband back before the bombs fell and had died protecting their son just as she would have done had the situations been reversed; when Kellogg shot him and took their son right in front of her he had set off the chain of events that eventually led her and everyone else here. She couldn't help but think about how differently things may have turned out if the Institute had never come looking for Shaun in the first place.

Kellogg.

It was his own pistol that she was now carving his name into. Some people may think it weird for her to remember him in any way other than as the man who took her baby, killed her husband, and destroyed any chance she had at a normal life but once you got inside someone's head like she had with Kellogg it gave you some perspective. He was not a good man by any stretch of the imagination but he had his reasons for being who he was and doing the things he did; they were pretty good reasons too, at least in her mind. She couldn't judge him; she had more blood on her hands now than he ever did and in the grand scheme of things he was nothing more than just another one of the countless victims in this war. Maybe death finally gave him the peace he had been searching for. She had already done what she could to get revenge for both of them when she blew up the Institute but he deserved to be remembered, at least in some small way, by the only person still around who could.

Glory.

It may not have been a minigun but the gauss rifle she was currently etching Glory's name into seemed to fit her; it only had a short fuse before it dished out its destructive energy. Unlike the synths that the Railroad had just freed from the Institute, Glory was never going to get to see her people become fully integrated into everyday society around the Commonwealth. Sure that goal was still a long way off but Rome wasn't built in a day and neither would the new Commonwealth full of free synths. The only small solace in it all was that Glory died knowing what it was like to be free and fighting for a cause she believed in, trying to help free the rest of her people so that they could enjoy their lives the same way that she could. She went out in a blaze of glory and no one who knew her had expected anything less. The Railroad would probably remember her in their own way, but Glory deserved something much more personal than just a memorial plaque or her own wing of a museum.

Haylen.

Scribe Haylen was one of the few members of the Brotherhood that she still thought about on a regular basis. She had played them all in the end and at this point she wasn't even sure if Haylen would want her to be remembering her in any way, let alone with something like this. She had truly been in it just for the science and adventure though, and unlike most of the Brotherhood that she met seemed to actually have a heart; for that Sienna could never forget her. If things hadn't been so rushed she may have been able to convince Haylen to jump ship and fight at her side. As she scratched her name into the very shotgun that had taken her life in the first place she let out of slow sigh of regret; it had an incendiary mod that reminded her of the fiery personality that the scribe had showed off in the few, short interactions that they had had. If things had turned differently they may have even been friends.

Shaun.

Even after all he had done, she couldn't find it in her heart to hate him. He was still her son after all and was only following in the ways that he had been brought up in. She had initially begun her journey on a mission to rescue him from the clutches of the Institute, but no rescuing was ever required; he had flourished without her and was nothing like the little baby she remembered when they finally met. The look of disappointment on his face when she had made her way into the director's office to take off the security lockdown and open the way to the reactor would haunt her forever. He was her son and no synth child, no matter how much she enjoyed being a mother again, was ever going to replace him. It was a sniper rifle that now bore his name as he much rather preferred to operate from the shadows instead of engaging someone or something directly.

She stared down at her newly marked weapons for a few minutes, the thoughts and memories all coming rushing back to her at once.

"I can't believe we actually pulled it off," she heard Deacon say behind her.

"Me neither," she managed to get out with a sad sigh.

War never changes. It's never clean or easy and often it's the victors who end up the ones feeling the most like monsters simply because they're the only ones left. Sure they may write glorious stories about heroics and valor, and they might rewrite the history to leave out their atrocities but in war no one is innocent. This was a fact that Sienna now knew all too well as she stared down at the names of the people who had died just because of her in this war, remembering who they were and who they could have been had things turned out differently. She could only imagine the many others doing the same thing with many other names.


	4. Rock n Roll Fantasy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is vastly different than the one I originally uploaded to make it fit into more of a one shot format. This came out of my desire for Fallout to have a classic rock station and me playing Borderlands 2. It's also good to give Travis a love interest.

Travis Miles ran his fingers over the knobs of the various consoles that allowed him to intersperse his prerecorded news segments with the timeless music that he knew the people of the Commonwealth loved. The image of a certain blond haired hellion of a woman that had on more than one occasion called his station quaint and boring came to his mind and he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. His station wasn’t the only one available after all and the people of the Commonwealth had other options if they were looking for a little more flair.

Sitting with his feet propped up on his desk he shifted the knobs to go from a new news broadcast he had just recorded yesterday back to the music; apparently that vault dweller that Piper wrote about had been instrumental in helping the Brotherhood of Steel out of a sticky situation at the Cambridge Police Station. He had admittedly let his emotions get the best of him during the recording of that particular report but he decided not to re-record it to keep his station as real as possible. Satisfied that the operation of his station was going smoothly he found himself tuning his personal radio into her station. In the beginning he had told himself that his fascination with the station was simply checking out the competition, doing opposition research, but now he knew it was much more than that and had stopped lying to himself.

"Commonwealth," she said in a booming voice. "What is up?"

"I hope you're all ready for some jamming tunes because I just got some new records in here and I'm really itching to try them out," she continued.

"This is Kat Daniels in case you forgot and this," she paused. "Is Start Me Up by the Rolling Stones, those guys just never stop do they."

As the song played Travis found himself closing his eyes and humming along. She always knew how to work a crowd even when said crowd wasn't visible. Katy, or Kat as she liked to be called wasn’t exactly as booming or over the top as she was on the radio in person, but regardless of how they came into contact with her people couldn’t help but stop and listen to what she had to say. They were opposites in that way, he much rather preferred to avoid human interaction whenever possible and always found himself babbling his way through conversations whenever they found him.

He thought about what it would be like if Vadim knew what he was missing if he just tuned his radio to a slightly different frequency, he wouldn't need to complain about his own personality so much. The man had meant well, in his own way, when he had gotten Piper and the vault dweller to try and help him gain confidence. He had felt an initial burst of confidence when it was all said and done and had even had the nerve to go for it with Scarlett, but in the end that wasn’t him and he had reverted back to himself quickly, much to Vadim’s disapproval he assumed.

“Like I always say,” the radio boomed beside him. “There’s nothing like some minimally disguised innuendo to get you in a good mood.”

“This next one is Rock n Roll Fantasy by Bad Company,” she continued. “My fantasy involves a lot of Jet and a sniper rifle.”

“Anyways,” she said after clearing her throat. “Here’s the song.”

There were a lot of things that one could do with Jet and a sniper rifle and Travis found himself contemplating exactly what she was implying with that statement. He was wholeheartedly failing from keeping his mind from turning too far into the gutter when he just cut himself off from thinking about it completely.

“You know, if you wanted to hear my voice all you had to do was ask,” said voice sounded from inside his studio causing him to jump.

“Jeez Kat,” he said exasperated. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not good to sneak up on people.”

“Quite a few times as a matter of fact,” she said with a smirk. “But that hasn’t stopped me yet.”

“What are you doing here,” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be making sure operations with your station go smoothly.”

“Spencer’s got that handled,” she said with a flick of her hand. “Do I really need a reason to see my favorite DJ?”

“I guess not,” he said unsurely. “You really shouldn’t put yourself down like that though, you’re clearly the best DJ standing in this room.”

“Well they always say that narcissism and hubris are fatal sins so I’d rather not go down that direction too far,” she said. “Besides, you give yourself too little credit.”

“Dance with me,” she said holding out her hand suddenly.

“What,” he said.

“The next song,” she said. “Dance with me.”

Almost on cue her voice filtered through the radio, “Now I know a lot of you out there from time to time contemplate the Hell of world that we find ourselves in.”

“It’s perfectly normal to hope for something better,” she continued. “So, here’s The Way Life’s Meant to Be by Electric Light Orchestra to help you through that process.”

As the song began playing Travis said, “This isn’t even a song for that kind of dancing.”

“I don’t care,” she said as she took his hand and began tugging him along.

As he let himself be pulled along Travis found himself no longer caring about what kind of song was playing. This woman brought something out of him that no one else did. She was a little ball of energy that couldn’t be ignored, especially by him. They danced around haphazardly through his studio through the song without a care in the world. When it was finally over he met her eyes to see a smirk on her face.

“You know I love you right,” he found himself saying.

“Of course,” she said. “Now how about we actually get around to talking about that co-broadcast.”

For a second his mind couldn’t quite place what she meant before it all finally fell into place.

“That was today,” he said. “It must have slipped my mind.”

“That’s ok,” she said with a smirk. “At least I got a dance out of it.”

“Right,” he said. “So, co-broadcast, what exactly did you have in mind?”

“As I see it, it doesn’t really matter what we do because we’re going to knock their socks off either way,” she said. “Just imagine the look on Vadim’s face.”

He found himself smiling as he did just that. Vadim thought he had taken him by surprise when he set up the fake bar fight to help him gain his confidence, but he didn’t even know the half of what was waiting for him the next time he turned on his radio.

“Let’s get to it then,” he said and they swiftly got to work on their first co-broadcast.

The first of many to come if Travis had anything to say about it.


	5. Birthright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to switch this up quite a lot to fit it in to a more one shot style as well as to get rid of the terrible dialogue format that I used in the original version. This originally came from me wanting to write about Sarah and The Lone Wander's kid and morphed into a sort of headcanon that I now have for the Capital Wasteland following Fallout 4.

Leadership over the Eastern faction of the Brotherhood of Steel was her birthright. She could still remember like it was yesterday the first time her father had told her just that. She had grown up the majority of her life knowing only vague details about her mother. She had blond hair much like her own and had saved her father’s life on many occasions as they worked to take down the Enclave during her father’s search for his father. Upon finding out that her mother was none other than Sarah Lyons, a woman who was largely opined as an idealist by many of the Brotherhood of Steel soldiers she had come across in her life, she wasn’t sure what to think.

"Ashe," her father had said. "Your mother was not the disaster they make her out to be now.”

“She was slightly idealistic that’s true,” he continued. “But she had the Brotherhood going down the right path before she was betrayed by Arthur Maxson.”

Her father had proceeded to tell her that shortly after her mother took over as Elder of the Brotherhood she was betrayed by Maxson, a man she thought she could trust. The official story only stated that she died in combat, but her father knew otherwise.

“I didn’t buy the official story for a second,” he had said. “And after a little digging on my own I discovered that not only was she shot in the back, but that the bullet that killed her was fired from Maxon’s gun, sloppy for him not to use an energy weapon, but lucky for me and for the truth.”

Her father had drifted away from the Brotherhood after that and had hid her as best as he could from the Brotherhood’s radar. Maxson knew about her, knew what kind of threat she could pose in the future, and so her father wasn’t about to lose two people he loved to the monster that he had become. They had eventually settled in an outlying settlement as far away from the Brotherhood as they could get and she subsequently grew up not knowing anything about who her parents were or the danger that she still faced.

Her father had trained her in a variety of skills that he had perfected over his life, though he claimed their purpose was merely for survival. During this particular conversation however he finally let her in on the fact that he had been preparing her for the day when Maxson inevitably found her and she had to fight.

Arthur Maxson hadn’t exactly had his head on straight even back then. Pushing for expanded Brotherhood militarization and backing away from the ideals set out by the first Elder Lyons to help the people of the Capital Wasteland rebuild their lives in whatever way he could. It would only be a few years after this particular conversation with her father that Maxson would start rounding up those who he thought posed a threat to the Brotherhood’s security including the DJ Three Dog, Megaton’s mayor Lucas Simms, and her father. They along with hundreds of other people were shipped off to the northern hills and put into prison camps and she hadn’t seen her father since.

She still wasn’t sure how prepared exactly she was to go up against an army, especially considering recent events regarding Maxson’s dreams in the North. He had had hopes of expanding Brotherhood influence into an area known as the Commonwealth and using whatever technology he found there to condense and solidify his power. It hadn’t exactly gone as planned.

From what she gathered, and news other than what the official line was was still hard to come by, he had taken his army up to the Commonwealth onboard his precious airship and proceeded to open up a war against something called the Institute. There were unforeseen complications and the Prydwen had been destroyed along with most of his army. He had received severe burns on his face for his trouble, but ultimately survived to limp his way back to the Capital Wasteland with a small group of other survivors, defeated and humiliated. However, instead of learning from his mistakes and taking a more moderate approach to leading the Brotherhood he had only gotten crazier in the interim.

He was ruthless now, having his soldiers haul people out of their homes and publicly beat them for even looking at a Brotherhood soldier the wrong way. Megaton, a place that had once been a thriving community when her father was a young man and had still been relatively active the few times he had taken her to visit as a child was now little more than a ghost town with only a few hardy survivors eking out a meager existence. It would only get worse if someone didn’t stand up to his tyrannical rule and she figured that the Brotherhood was her birthright anyways so it might as well be her.

Her father had always called her one final surprise from the Lyons clan that Maxson would never see coming. He may have been able to take both of her parents away from her, but he hadn’t gotten to her and if she had anything to say about it that would be one of his final mistakes. She briefly took stock of the small shack that she had been staying in in the years since her father’s internment and couldn’t help a small degree of sadness that creeped into her mind at the idea that she would probably never see it again.

She grabbed her backpack from one of the nearby tables which contained all her possessions that she wasn’t willing to part with. Among these was a 10mm pistol that her father had given her, telling her that it was given to him by his friend Amata when he was first leaving the vault. There was also a picture of her dad with her grandfather on his tenth birthday holding a BB gun and smiling proudly. Her mother’s dog tags were in there too, apparently taken from the Brotherhood by her father before he left. In a way it was like having them all with her as she began this new journey. With one final look she turned and walked out the door, turning in the direction of Megaton. Arthur Maxson may have been able to declare her father, a man who had saved the entire Capital Wasteland from a genetic cleansing at the hands of the Enclave, an enemy of the state, but he had no idea what was about to hit him.


	6. Moriarty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is also switched up from the original upload to give it more of a one shot feel. It is still, however, a continuation of the previous chapter if you want to read it that way. This came from me wanting to write a kid for Moriarty and Nova.

Moriarty, it was a simple enough anglicized version of an Irish name that translated to mean skilled navigator. Connor Moriarty liked to think that maybe some far off ancestor of his had actually navigated the world’s oceans back when things like that were still readily possible. Of course there were also the connotations that were given to the name by Arthur Conan Doyle. Scheming and conniving were certainly things that his father did on a regular basis attributing him the ilk of someone more like Doyle’s Moriarty. He liked to think that he was doing the name alright, running the bar left to him by his father to the best of his ability and trying to build a more good-natured rapport with the limited citizenry that remained in Megaton than his father had maintained.

He often wondered what his father would think of him if he could see him today, not having really known him and only having the stories that his mother and other remaining residents spread he thought that maybe his father would say he was a little too kindhearted, but ultimately be approving. Granted, his father never planned to have children at all, so it wasn’t like he had had time to contemplate whether or not he would want them to turn out like him anyways. The circumstances surrounding his conception and birth weren’t exactly circumstances his father had ever planned on getting himself into. His father was an older man even then and his mother had been employed as a whore at the bar and one way or another, in a series of events he still wasn’t sure about they had fallen into bed together and he had happened. In the end though, his father had left him the bar when he died so maybe he was at least somewhat happy to have his legacy carried on in some way.

His attention was drawn towards the door as a blond who he had never seen before and who looked very much out of place entered his establishment and proceeded to plop herself down in one of the barstools.

“Scotch,” she said.

“Can I ask your name stranger,” he said as he moved to get a bottle and a shot glass from one of the cabinets. “Never seen you in here before.”

“Never been in here before,” she said. “And it’s Ashe.”

“Connor Moriarty,” he said sticking his hand out for a shake after pouring her a shot.

She proceeded to shake his hand with a firm grip.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for in these parts,” he asked. “Megaton isn’t exactly the boom town that it was in my father’s day.”

“Looking for information mostly,” she answered tasting her drink.

“What kind of information,” he was curious now.

“The kind that shouldn’t be spread over bar tops,” she said betraying nothing.

That could only mean one thing, she was looking for information about the Brotherhood. He had dealt with enough wannabe rebellious types in his time to know that she wouldn’t simply walk away without nothing. He didn’t exactly relish in the idea of getting himself even further onto the Brotherhood’s radar. Running an illicit chem business out of the backroom of your bar didn’t exactly ingratiate oneself to the military overlords. Luckily he had been able to turn them onto one of his competitors and they had since left him alone.

“What’s in it for me,” he said running his hand through his messy red hair. “Information like the sort you’re asking for doesn’t come cheap.”

“I have caps,” she said dropping a sack with a clang onto the table.

Before he could proceed any further his concentration was broken by the sound of several shots ringing out from one of the far corners of the bar. He looked up to see exactly the person he was expecting to see. There in all her glory, purple hair and lopsided cowboy hat included, stood Megaton’s self-appointed mayor.

“Violet,” he said annoyed. “What did I tell you about killing my customers?”

“He owed me caps,” she said pushing the limp body of one of the drifters who frequented his bar onto the floor.

“So you just shot him,” he said crossing his arms. “Forgive me for being blunt, but that sounds like a particularly bad extortion method.”

“He has the caps on him, wasn’t going to part with them without a fight though,” she said crossing her own arms in return. “Figured I’d just save you the trouble of having an all-out gun fight in your bar.”

“How considerate of you,” he said shaking his head.

Turning to Ashe he offered, “That’s Violet, she “runs” this town.”

“Shut it Moriarty,” she said. “What brings a little vixen like this to our humble town anyways?”

“Information,” he said with a raise of his eyebrows.

“I see,” Violet nodded her head in understanding.

“We were just about to go to the back room to discuss the terms of our arrangement,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to join us.”

“Of course,” Violet said following the two into the small room that housed a wide variety of contraband chems keeping one hand close to the pistol strapped to her hip.

“So what do you want to know,” Moriarty said as a matter of beginning.

“Patrol patterns and schedules would be a good start,” Ashe said holding his gaze. “I had to stop and start my journey multiple times on my way here.”

“What do you think I am,” he said shaking his head. “Some sort of mastermind of rebellion, I’m just a bartender.”

“You and I both know that you have the information I want so let’s skip the whole dance,” Ashe said confidently. “I need to know patrol patterns and schedules, maybe even some information on the location of Brotherhood outposts and personnel files; are you going to help me or am I going to be on my way.”

“I might be able to get you one of those things without drawing too much attention, but poking around more would only put a target on my back and I can’t have that,” he said. “Which do you want the most?”

“Patrol patterns and schedules is the most immediate concern,” she said.

“Alright,” he said motioning for Violet to move in behind Ashe. “One last question, who sent you to me?”

Ashe felt the cold steel of a pistol press into her back and immediately cursed her own overconfidence.

“Nigel,” she said gritting her teeth slightly.

“Nigel,” he repeated. “There’s probably a hundred Nigels out there, you’ll have to do better than that.

“Nigel, dark-skinned guy with an eyepatch and an x cut into his forehead,” she said more calmly. “He said you would help.”

“Damn,” he said motioning for Violet to lower the weapon. “He really needs to stop sending you guys to me, I have a life to live and I’m not too keen on losing my head to a Brotherhood execution party.”

“Will you help or not,” she asked.

“I’ll help,” he said. “But first you have to do something for me, information this sensitive is worth far more than just a few caps.”

“What do you want,” she asked.

“I want you to go up to Vault 101 and talk Amata into giving us some of her medical supplies that she’s been hoarding,” he said.

“How do you expect me to do that,” she said voice only slightly wavering at the thought of her father’s birthplace and childhood friend.

“Don’t care,” he said. “Though I would think not punching her would be a good place to start.”

“She didn’t want to help,” Violet said before Ashe could be really confused. “She only wanted a charity case.”

“You still didn’t have to punch her,” he said. “In fact maybe you should join our new guest just to make sure she doesn’t run off anywhere.”

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go blondie, if I’m doing this I’m doing it now.”

As he watched them go, Ashe semi-reluctantly, he couldn’t help but think that he was doing the name Moriarty proud. This strange woman probably wasn’t going to do anything more than get herself killed but if there was only a slight chance of breaking the Brotherhood’s iron grip he would do what he could. If the name Moriarty made it into the history books because of it then that would just be the icing on the cake.


End file.
